


Three Dates

by BugsRabbit, Forthright (BugsRabbit)



Category: Looney Tunes | Merrie Melodies, The Looney Tunes Show
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugsRabbit/pseuds/BugsRabbit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugsRabbit/pseuds/Forthright
Summary: Bugs and Daffy have a weird relationship.
Relationships: Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck, Daffy Duck/Tina Russo
Comments: 19
Kudos: 125





	1. A Question in the Kitchen

“Why aren’t we dating?” Daffy asked.

It was 3pm, which meant that Daffy was up early, god knew why. Bugs had stopped trying to understand Daffy's daily schedule and the reasons behind it years ago. They were at the kitchen table. Bugs was knitting, or trying to. A new hobby. His doctor had suggested it as a way to de-stress. At his side was a cup of coffee--watered down. Another of his doctor's suggestions. Across from him Daffy was working on his second bowl of cereal--Captain Crunch. Daffy exclusively ate sugary cereal marketed towards children. Two months ago he'd been on a Fruit Loops kick. Now it was Captain Crunch. The morning paper was spread out in front of him, and he'd been studying it for the past 20 minutes with a serious expression on his face, though, again, Bugs didn't know why. Daffy didn't keep up with the daily news--or any news, really. Bugs hadn't been paying Daffy much mind, moving the knitting needles somewhat clumsily, concentrating on not dropping a stitch, until Daffy spoke up, just then, and asked, out of nowhere, why they weren't dating.

Bugs dropped the stitch. Across the table, Daffy was looking at him earnestly, no hint of irony on his face or in his tone.

“What?” Bugs said stupidly.

“Why aren’t we dating?” Daffy repeated.

There was a long pause. Surely Daffy was joking? But he seemed completely serious as he waited for an answer.

Bugs laid down his needles. “Daffy, I’m dating Lola.”

“Why, though?” Daffy asked. “You don’t love her.”

Bugs' eyebrows came down. “How could you say that?”

“Bugs,” Daffy said seriously, “look me in my striking, soulful eyes and tell me that you love her.”

Bugs stared at him, dumbfounded--and silent.

“You can’t, can you?” Daffy pressed, triumphant. “Admit it. You’re only dating her because she’s crazy and won’t leave you alone and you have a thing about telling weirdos no.”

And now Bugs frowned. “I don’t have a thing about telling weirdos no.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What does that even mean? That I have a thing about telling weirdos no?”

“It means that you don’t. You never tells weirdos no.”

“Yes I do!" Bugs said, indignant. "I tell you no all the time!”

“Do you?”

“Yes!”

“That’s not the way I see it.”

Bugs rolled his eyes. “How do you see it, then?”

Daffy set his spoon down and began ticking off on his fingers. “I live in your house, eat your food, buy things with your credit card without your permission. I give you absolutely nothing in return and in fact cause you a lot of inconvenience. I get you in legal trouble on a regular basis, our neighbors hate me, I could really go on. I'm nothing but a burden to you--"

"You're not a burden," Bugs muttered.

"--and you let me stay here, anyway. Any reasonable person would have thrown me out by now. But you haven't. And why is that?" He picked up his spoon again and jabbed it pointedly at Bugs. "Because you can't say no to weirdos."

And then he took another mouthful of his cereal.

The next several moments were characterized by a silence only broken by Daffy's chewing--which was quite loud, actually. Bugs frowned down at the table, and said, eventually, subdued,

“I do love Lola.”

Daffy raised an eyebrow.

“In a way," Bugs admitted, glancing to the side.

“Sure.” Daffy said. “That’s something else I don’t understand about you. You’re rich. You’ve got a great personality. Everyone loves you. Speedy, Tina, even that witch next door.”

Bugs crossed his arms over his chest. “Yosemite doesn’t love me.”

“But he respects you. And I’m pretty sure that’s all he’s capable of. Everyone loves you. You’re the smartest, most charming person I know. So what are you doing, hanging out with a weirdo like Lola, a loser like Porky—”

“Porky is not a loser.”

“—and me? You could have a million friends if you wanted to. Why don’t you?”

Bugs unfolded his arms. Pressed the pads of his fingers to the table top. “Maybe I don’t want a million friends.”

Daffy scoffed. “Well that’s obvious.”

Bugs sighed. “Look, Daff, you mean a lot to me.”

“I know,” Daffy said. “But why?” He paused, then added, almost thoughtfully, “Are you really that lonely, Bugs?”

Bugs eyes widened. And Daffy, oblivious to how profound his words had been, resumed eating his cereal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working out the idea, and I'm not sure how big/active the fandom is (?), but I think this could be a fun project. Let me know what you think!


	2. A Memory, Three Convos, and a Toothpaste Coda

_There was a fire in the fireplace, the light flicking on the walls. The guests had all left, and it was just them, the two of them, and a room full of empty mugs and plates and spilled popcorn._

_“Stay still,” Daffy had said._

_Bugs had been reaching down to pick up a discarded mug of mostly finished hot chocolate._

_“What?”  
_

_“Stay still,” Daffy repeated, coming closer._

_And Bugs frowned slightly, smelling Daffy’s breath._

_“Are you—drunk?”  
_

“Bun-bun!” Lola exclaimed.

“Huh?” Bugs jerked. Lola’s voice had ripped him from his thoughts. They were sitting at a table in front of a little ice cream shop. And Lola was leaning close to his face, her eyes bright, as always. “Oh—sorry Lola.”

When Bugs had jerked his elbow he had jarred the styrofoam cup in front of him, not hard enough to tip it over, but hard enough to splatter some melted ice cream onto the table. He reached for the napkin on his right to mop it up.

“Where’d you go?” Lola asked, concerned. “You were a million miles away. I mean,” she scoffed as though she’d just heard something equally amusing and ridiculous, “not literally. That would be impossible. I mean, how would we be talking to each other? I’d be like ‘BUGS!’—,” and she yelled the last word, demonstrating how she would yell, hands cupping either side of her mouth to make a hand-megaphone, “—and you’d be like ‘LOLA!’—,” she yelled again, “ and then I’d be like ‘WHAT?’ and you’d be like ‘WHAT?’—”

“Lola,” Bugs said, glancing around. People were turning their heads to stare at them.

“—and I’d be like ‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU!’ and then you’d be like—”

“Lola—”

“— ‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU!’ Which is exactly what _I’d_ just said but you’d say it too because you didn’t hear that that’s what I’d said because we’d be so far apart—and this is all assuming we could even see each other which, I have to say, seems _highly unlikely_ —"

“Lola,” Bugs placed a hand on her wrist, cutting her off. “I get it.”

“But you’re not a million miles away,” Lola finished, cheerily. “You’re right here.”

“Yeah,” Bugs said, hand slipping away. He was frowning, which made Lola concerned all over again.

“You okay? You look like your cat died. If you had a cat. Do you have a cat? I can’t remember.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“Wait, you have a mouse. Well, you don’t _have_ a mouse. A mouse lives in your house. Oh, hey, mouse, house—that rhymes! I love when things rhyme. Like balloon and spoon, and moon, and dune, and ….” She paused, clearly struggling to think of a new one.

“Buffoon?” Bugs supplied, cheek propped on his fist.

“Oh, that’s a good one!”

Bugs smiled slightly.

“Wait—what were we talking about?”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“Oh! Right. And then I said you do have a mouse, well not have a mouse but one lives in your house, and then I was like, oh, wow, mouse and house rhyme! How funny. And then—”

“You don’t have to recap, Lola. It just happened.”

Lola smiled. “Well—maybe it’s good that you don’t have a cat. Cats and mice do _not_ get along.”

Bugs let out a little huff of a laugh, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Lola took his hand.

“You can tell me anything, Bun-bun, you know that right? I mean _anything_.”

“I’m just a little off today, Lola, that’s all.”

“ _Anything_ ,” Lola repeated, but she had an intense look on her face. “I will help you bury the body.”

“What?” Bugs said.

“What?” Lola said. “I didn’t say anything. Did you say something? I didn’t say anything.” Then she whispered, “But I _will_ help you bury the body.”

“There isn’t a body, Lola.”

“I’ve got a shovel in my trunk.”

“Why do you have a shovel in your trunk?”

“You think this is the first dead body I’ve had to bury?”

“ _What_ —?”

Lola’s phone buzzed, and her face lit up. “Oh—that’s my mom!”

***

At Pizzaribba the lunch crowd had dissipated and it wasn’t quite time for the evening dinner rush. A soccer game was flashing on the TV screens hanging above the bar, but Bugs and Porky were sitting on the other end of the restaurant, splitting a pie. Half carrot, half mushroom. As there weren’t many customers, Speedy was able to join them. He had been sitting on the table with his legs splayed and his hands behind his rear end, but as he and Porky got into a heated discussion over whether you could put a tomato in a fruit salad (Speedy said no way, Porky said yes, on a technicality) he’d risen to his feet, gesticulating forcefully. A long straw twisted from the cup beside him, much too large for him, to hang down by his side.

An hour earlier, Bugs had said goodbye to Lola, who had left him with a “Bye, Bun-bun!” Bugs touched the place on his cheek where he could still feel her parting kiss.

“I’m telling you, man,” Speedy was saying, “it’s a different thing!”

“But it’s a-a fruit!” Porky exclaimed. “Scientifically--!”

“Porky. No one cares about science when they’re trying to eat a snack. If you put tomato in a cup with apples and bananas, I guarantee you that no one—I mean _no one_ —would eat it.”

“I wo-would eat it!” Porky denied.

“Oh _would_ you?”

“Y-yes!”

“Okay, so if I go into the kitchen _right now_ —"

"Do you guys think I'm lonely?" Bugs asked.

Speedy and Porky stopped to look at him, their argument cut off sharply, popped like a balloon.

"Lonely?" Speedy repeated, eyebrows raised.

"N-no," Porky said. "Why?"

Bugs’s hand fell, and he crossed his arms on the table in front of him. "Daffy says I'm lonely."

"Why would Da-Daffy say that?"

"He thinks--well he thinks that's why I let him live with me."

"I th-thought you let him live with you be-because you have a we-weird thing about saying n-no to weirdos."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"I-it's true. I me-mean, I have n-no idea why a-anyone would da-date Lola."

Bugs sighed and buried his face in his hands. "I _like_ Lola."

Speedy shook his head, making a _tsk_ noise. "She's crazy, man." He paused, putting his hands on his hips. "Tell me this, Señor Bunny. Do you _feel_ lonely?"

"Not really," Bugs said.

"Then he's wrong," Speedy shrugged.

"I wouldn't wo-worry too-too much abou-about it," Porky said. "I'm pre-pretty sure Daffy just li-likes to hear himself talk."

"Yeah," Bugs murmured. "Yeah, he does."

“If anyone’s lonely, it’s Daffy,” Speedy said. “Porky’s right. He’s probably projecting.”

Daffy, projecting? That did make sense. Somehow, though, the thought didn't make Bugs any happier.

***

It was late afternoon when Bugs arrived home. The sun glinted orange on the windows.

Opening his front door, Bugs said, "Daffy, I'm home--" and then crashed summarily to the floor. There had been a bicycle, black and green with a shiny gold bell, stood right in front of the door. Bugs, who had not been expecting it to be there, had toppled right over it, bringing it down with him. They both lay, then, a heap on the floor.

"Daffy..." he groaned.

After getting back to his feet, Bugs stood the bicycle up and wheeled it to the kitchen where he found, as he'd suspected he might, Daffy. Daffy was hunched over the table, with markers at his side. His tongue was stuck out of his beak as he colored something with intense concentration. Bugs let go of the bike and put his hands on his hips.

"What is this?"

Daffy looked up at Bugs's voice, and took in Bugs standing in the kitchen entrance with the bike at his side. He frowned.

"You don't know what a bicycle is?"

Bugs's eyelids lowered. "I meant why is it in the house."

"The garage is full."

Bugs's eyes narrowed. "With _what?"_

"You don't want to know the answer to that question."

Bugs walked around to stand behind Daffy, peering over his shoulder. His eyes widened.

"Are you _drawing_ money--?" He put his hands up. "You know what, don't answer that. You're right. I don't wanna know."

Daffy winked.

Rolling his eyes, Bugs headed to the fridge. "Put the bike outside."

"But someone might steal it!" Daffy protested.

"Who, Granny?"

Daffy pointed his marker at Bugs. "You never know."

Bugs shut the fridge, now holding a bottle of water. "I'm pretty sure the only person who steals things in this neighborhood is you."

"That was one time!"

"It was weeks, Daffy."

 _"One_ string of several weeks where I stole things in my sleep. It's not like it was a big deal--everyone commits crimes in their sleep!"

Bugs untwisted the cap of the bottle.

"And what about when my newspaper was stolen?"

"No one stole your newspaper," Bugs said. "You didn't renew your subscription."

"Oh, right." Daffy tapped his beak. "Well, what about--?"

"Put it outside."

 _"Fine,"_ Daffy said, eyes narrowed. "But if it gets stolen, you're buying me a new one."

That evening, Bugs watched Daffy in the mirror as they brushed their teeth. Daffy was a mess, always. Toothpaste mixed with spit splattering all over the counter. Daffy spit, and white suds clung to his beak. Bugs handed Daffy a hand towel silently, and bent to spit himself.

"You're staring," Daffy said, towel to beak.

Bugs placed his toothbrush in the stand.

"Are you angry?" Daffy asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Probably," Bugs said.

"Is this about the tarantulas?"

Tarantulas?

"No," Bugs said, and thought _Not yet, anyway._

Daffy frowned. He'd lowered his hands and the towel with them. He'd only half finished wiping his beak--the left side was still splattered. Bugs stepped forward, taking the towel from Daffy's hand and pinning Daffy to the counter with a knee between Daffy's legs. Silently, Bugs finished wiping Daffy's beak for him. His hands and expression were almost gentle. All the while, Daffy stared up at him with wide eyes. Moments like these were some of the only ones where Daffy had nothing snarky to say.

Bugs set the towel on the counter. "Speedy says you're projecting."'

Daffy blinked, coming back to himself. "About what?"

"About me being lonely."

Daffy scoffed. "Speedy doesn't know what he's talking about."

"So you're not lonely?"

Daffy shoved Bugs's chest--not hard, but Bugs stepped back. "This isn't about me."

"Then what it is about?"

"You. Obviously. It's like you're not even listening."

Bugs studied Daffy.

"What's going on?" Bugs asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out!"

"No," Bugs said. "With you."

Daffy's eyes widened, then he looked down and to the side, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked troubled. Subdued.

"I thought I told you this isn't about me."

A long moment passed. The faucet wasn't closed tightly, and water dripped lazily. And Daffy's brow was furrowed, his shoulders tense.

"I think you're lying," Bugs said.

Daffy looked up sharply.

"I think you're lying," Bugs repeated, stepping forward once more, "because you don't want to admit something to yourself, so you're turning it on me. But I'm not the one with the problem, Daff. You are."

In stepping forward, Bugs had placed a hand on either side of Daffy, pinning him once again to the counter. This time, however, his knee wasn't involved. And Daffy, being forced back, had placed his hands on the counter behind him to steady himself--and the action had meant that his hands unintentionally and imperfectly rested on Bugs's. This fact unsteadied Daffy in another way.

"Now," Bugs said, "are you going to tell me what it is?"

There was conflict and uncertainty in Daffy's face. His chest rose and fell. Seconds ticked by, and the sink dripped.

Bugs frowned at Daffy's silence.

"Daffy--" he started to stay.

In one sudden motion Daffy wrapped his arms fiercely around Bugs's neck, surprising Bugs and cutting him off.

"Daffy?" Bugs blurted, even has his hands came up automatically to rest on Daffy's sides.

Daffy's arms tightened.

"Daffy--what--?"

"I'm supposed to be the liar."

Daffy's voice was soft and hard and petulant and teasing all at once. There was a moment that hung over them, wobbly, and stubborn, and bald like a baby. Then Bugs's expression softened. He pressed his mouth into the junction between Daffy's shoulder and neck.

"Can't we both be liars?"

Daffy was shaking, trembling, against Bugs. With the movement of his chest and arms, he felt fragile to Bugs. He felt so fragile, in fact, that it took Bugs a moment to realize that Daffy wasn't crying. He was laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate the support I've gotten! Also much of the story--including tags, chapter length, and characters--is still in flux. I *might* change the content rating later.
> 
> Any feedback is very much appreciated. :)


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